The World in Black and White
by stormcane
Summary: Prim in the afterlife, where she meets her father and Finnick. Prim visits Katniss in District 12 as a ghost, stumbling on some well-kept secrets along the way...
1. Chapter 1 The Foggy Mansion

**Chapter 1. The Foggy Mansion**

I enter the realm of the dead in an almost surreal way. At first, I wasn't sure. There was no pain whatsoever when the bomb went off in the pen where they kept the children hostage. There was a blinding blob of light, not unlike a big bubble, and then a burst of rainbow colors. So many colors swirled around me, and for a while I felt like a tiny speck of dust inside a huge kaleidoscope, unable to do anything but let the colors fly around.

"Am I really gone? Or is this all a dream?" I look up to ask my father, the first person I saw when the mist of swirling colors cleared. He's wearing his old mining uniform, not the brand new trousers and white shirt we buried him in. I, on the other hand, am wearing one of the dresses that used to belong to Katniss, a short pink dress with white flowers embroidered along the hem.

"It's real, pumpkin. This is the afterlife. Not much to see, really," he replies, with a twist of his lips.

The afterlife looks like a huge mansion, but someone must have left the windows open because the fog is creeping in steadily. There are endless corridors, with hundreds of doors lining them. We're currently standing on a small sitting room, in a junction between corridors, where there are other people sitting, sipping coffee, reading the papers or chit-chatting on the couches. Residents, according to my father, are souls of dead people that continue to hang around and wait for family members to come so they can all leave this place together. Father calls some of these residents by name, others nod at him when they pass us. He holds my hand tighter and he guides me towards one corridor.

We slowly walk on a long carpeted hallway, not meeting any other resident. I'm a bit disappointed. They told us in school that heaven's supposed to be a beautiful place, not some moldy old mansion full of fog.

"Some old timers say it's supposed to get better when we check out from here and go to the final destination," he explains when he notices me looking around with a disappointed pout, "Maybe heaven's a real garden with butterflies and flowers, just like your homeroom teacher told you. You're not scared, are you, my little darling?"

I shake my head, squeezing my father's hand and looking up to show him I'm not scared. Not now that he's with me again. He's been waiting alone all this time, he tells me, but he doesn't tell who he's waiting for, although he seems sad that it's me who's with him right now. But I can guess he's been waiting all this time for mother to come along. He must be. How surprised he must have been when I showed up first.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Don't be. You can't help dying, you know," he tries to make light of the situation, like he always does. When something serious crops up in the conversation around the dinner table, he'd crack old miner jokes to lighten the mood. He used to have the same tell-tale twinkle in his eyes whenever he makes up funny stories to make mother laugh. He's so like Katniss in many ways, especially when he smiles. I remember the last moment I saw my sister, Katniss. Her hair in disarray, eyes wide as if to warn me, mouth open in mid-shout. She must have realized before anyone what was about to happen. Sometimes, she has that talent of seeing what others don't, and acting on impulse. Then, a sudden thought hits me so hard I stop walking.

"Katniss isn't… here… is she?" I can't ask the question louder than a whisper, fearing the answer. She can't be here. I don't want her here.

Father closes his eyes before answering, then he looks at me with relief, and what looks like pride, in them. "She's not. She's a tough one, that girl. She's still… fighting on." I beam at him, sharing his relief that she's still alive. If there's something I share with my father, it's the boundless love we have for Katniss. Not once did I feel jealous whenever they'd go out hunting. Katniss is my father's pride and joy, the child who resembles him so closely that he never ever craved to have a son, unlike many of his co-workers in the mine. She's his favorite, just like I am my mother's.

He stops in front of a closed doorway. On the door is a number and the name H. Everdeen. It's my father's room, and I can't help but wonder what's inside. Did he decorate it like our home in the Seam? Is it full of big birch trees like in the woods where he hunted when he was alive? It can't be just another drab room with a bed and a lamp. This is the afterlife, after all. Suddenly, I really want to find out.

He reached inside his pocket for the key. In no time, he's opening the door and I peek in. I gasp. Inside the room is the familiar hospital wing in district 13, but in black and white, just like the old movies my father used to watch on television in between Capitol broadcasts. To one side is my mother, scrubbing her hands in the sink right outside the operating room. Her face looks pale, made more so because of the lack of color. She pauses every few seconds to rub her eyes on her sleeve. She's crying. Someone must have already told her what happened in the Capitol. She probably knows I'm dead, but her hectic hospital schedule won't let her grieve yet.

I step inside the room to get a closer look. My mother's so near, I can almost touch her. I reach out with one hand tentatively, noticing how it looks so out of place amidst the colorless tableaux in front of me. My hand passes through my mother's shoulder, making me gasp. I retract my hand, shocked that I can't touch anything in this black and white world. Mother doesn't seem to notice, as she continues to scrub harder at her hands, her brows knitted in concentration, tears gone. She takes a deep breath as she shakes the water off, letting the humid air from the hospital's ventilation dry her hands and arms. The next moment, she's entering the operating room, putting her cap on before door closes behind her.

"Still a looker, isn't she," said my father from behind me, a smile evident in his voice. I turn to hug my father around the waist, sobbing on his chest. In the black and white version of district 13 hospital, my father and I are the only ones that still have color on our bodies. If only I can touch her, to make her feel better. Frustrated, I clench my hands and pound at my father's chest. He holds me for a long time until I stop sobbing. This is the only disadvantage of being dead, I think sadly, I can't touch anyone in the living world even if I can still see them.

"You can touch her if you really want to," he says gently, softly stroking my hair. He must have guessed why I acted the way I did.

I look up in surprise, not believing that it's still possible to have any sort of power in the world of the living. Father whistles sharply, like calling someone from afar. Suddenly, a tiny ball of blue light appears before me, dancing out of the way as I try to touch it, but still hovering above my head like a halo. Father whistles again, and another one appears, zigzagging in front of us. I muffle a shriek, jumping back, as the second ball comes too close to my feet.

"Whispers. We call them whispers. Each room has three of these. You can use them to touch anything in the real world, just the way you would normally. Once you use up all three, you need to leave this place and move on," he says. One blue light moves tantalizingly near his hands, as if asking him to demonstrate what he's explaining to me, but my father sharply shakes his head and tucks his hands under his arms resolutely. I try to grab it with both hands but it flies away out of reach, only to fly back to circle my father's head. I stifle a giggle as my father puffs at the ball of light several times, trying to blow it away.

"I've already used one a long time ago and I plan to use the others only when it really matters," he explains sheepishly, motioning for me to go out of the room. The door, just like us, looks too brown amidst the colorless surroundings. We go back to the dim corridor of the mansion, shutting the door behind us.

"Let me guess," I say teasingly, "you used one to kiss Mum on the lips while she's sleeping."

Father laughs out loud, blushing a bit. "And what do you know about kissing, young lady?" he teases back. He sighs, putting one arm around my shoulders as he guides me to the room right next to his. The doorway reads P. Everdeen, my room. My father's eyes have that faraway look to them as he remembers the first time he used one of his precious whispers to touch something in the living world. "It was the spring after my death. When Katniss tried hunting on her own for the first time," he recalls, "After shooting three arrows unsuccessfully at a slow moving badger, she said 'father help me', and I lifted her elbow to the proper angle right before she released the arrow. I don't think she noticed."

Just then, the door across mine opened and a man stumbled out, his hands tied together with a length of rope. "I heard voices, Horace. That's not Katniss, is it?" the man asks, panicked. The name on his door is F. Odair and I immediately remember him as one of Katniss' allies in the Games. Finnick, from District 4.

"Odair. For a married man, you ask about my daughter a lot," father snorts suspiciously, looking at the man from head to foot. "And untie your hands, for goodness' sake. Don't you have any self-control?"

"I'm sorry, Horace, the little buggers inside won't let me be. Annie's so beautiful right now, and her body is changing so fast. I'd have used all those damned whispers yesterday if I didn't tie my hands," Finnick deftly slips out of the knots, "And, for the record, I didn't have anything going with Katniss, although she seems to harbor an intense crush on me for some reason," he grins, as if knowing what exactly could rile up my father. Father always made sure no boy got too close to Katniss. He was always glowering at her male classmates for no reason whenever he can get off shift early enough to pick us up from school. I noticed, but Katniss didn't.

Finnick's face drops when he sees me. "Hi, Finnick," I say, trying not to blush. Finnick Odair is just too handsome, for an older man. No wonder everyone wanted to be with him in the Capitol. "What the—" Finnick stares at me, his expression unbelieving. Then, he shakes his head trying to remember something.

"If you're here, that means—" he leans against the wall, a horrified look dawning on his face. "So that's why Katniss has been that way…"

"Have you seen her? Where is she? Was she hurt by the blast? Is she OK?" My questions are endless, but Finnick doesn't answer and just looks at me sadly. I can't stand it. I want to know right now what's happening to my sister. I want to at least check if she's alright. "I want to see her now!" I demand, turning to my father. Father also has the same sad expression as Finnick, but my father's expression is more sorrowful than sad.

"Your key is in your pocket. Remember to control yourself out there, or you'll use up all your whispers," he says quietly, standing aside to let me enter my room. "She's in district 12, recuperating."

I turn the lock, enter the room, and see only pitch black nothingness there. I close my eyes and think of the Seam, the town square, the woods. "District 12" I command to the room. I open my eyes and find myself on the grassy slope near the Meadow, looking at the place where I grew up.


	2. Chapter 2 Katniss in Black and White

**Chapter 2. Katniss in Black and White**

I walk through the ruins of my old home, pensive. Why district 12 in black and white doesn't seem odd at all is beyond me, but I feel more comfortable walking the colorless gravel. Has it always been this dreary here? It must be the lack of people around that made the surroundings bleak. I hurry along, trying to remember the familiar path towards Victor's Village, even if I know I can get there without walking. But I want to see the Seam, or what used to be the Seam, and the place that used to be the old square, where I shared many happy memories window shopping with Katniss.

Peering into the homes in the Victor's village told me Katniss is still living in the same house. I can go there now, but I see Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss' mentor, talking on the phone and curiosity gets the better of me. I'm also more apprehensive about seeing Katniss again than I let myself believe. From the way Finnick and father act, something must be wrong with her. Willing myself into the mentor's home is easy, but listening in to the conversation isn't. Sitting on the floor, he's cradling the mouthpiece with one shoulder, a bottle of whiskey in one hand. He's talking to mother.

From their conversation, mother seems to be taking her time in 13, waiting for a team of healers to assemble before moving permanently to district 4. My mother, a permanent hospital worker. And, in District 4! I've never been there, I smile at the thought. Very few people associate her with Katniss, which means she got the job through sheer merit, having been a trained healer all her life. But the rest of their conversation is more tense.

"Hitch a ride with the rehab team going to 12, stay for a day – no, just an hour is fine – I guarantee a hovercraft will bring you directly to district 4 from here," Haymitch's tone is low, almost pleading. He pauses, listening to my mother's reply, then he erupts, "Oh, goddamnit, woman! What do you mean seeing you is the last thing she needs right now? She needs her family, and that means YOU!"

I rush out the door, not waiting to hear the rest, not even pausing to wonder at the way I can pass through colorless walls and doors in my state. I feel a surge of indignation at my mother's refusal to visit Katniss. District 12 is a stone's throw away from 13, so why can't she drop by to see Katniss before moving to district 4? I know the answer, of course, but I still want to deny it. It's no surprise that my mother is never returning to 12. I was the glue that bonded her to Katniss, and now that I'm gone, mother will no doubt be burying herself in work, nearly forgetting that her other daughter is still alive. It's something I can't control, not even while I was alive. It's heartbreaking, I hope they can find another way to love each other again.

Does my mother have a point? Will being reminded of my death, just by talking to mom, make Katniss worse? I stand at the junction between Haymitch and Katniss' homes, and suddenly, I'm scared beyond my wits at the prospect of facing my sister. Finnick's reaction upon seeing me and my father's concern for Katniss may be unfounded. Maybe she has found a way to survive my death and is doing well on her own.

It's twilight, I think, although I've never experienced twilight in black and white. I can't resist the flickering light inside our home, the one Katniss won when she became a victor in the Games. Peeking through the window, I see Katniss, or a girl that looks like her, on the rocker, staring at the fire. I've never seen her so emaciated, so thin and bedraggled. Her clothes are sullied and dirty, as if she hasn't changed them for a long time. It's a mistake coming here, I think. I can't stand the guilt that comes over me. My brave and beautiful sister has let herself fester alive because she can't bear the thought of me dead.

As if on cue, three balls of blue light appear in front of me, very near the spot where Katniss is rocking steadily staring at nothing. Clank, clank, clank, the rocker goes. The tiny blue whispers hover over Katniss, as if telling me to move closer, to touch her. Let her know I'm OK where I am. That I'm with father in a decrepit old mansion where the dead of Panem stay before moving to heaven. I stay at my spot just outside the window, mesmerized, afraid of my sister, and of my reaction to her current state. Greasy Sae is telling Katniss about spring, that she should go out hunting. Katniss murmurs something non-committal, and Greasy Sae leaves through the front door clucking her tongue, mumbling to herself about Katniss wasting away and being as good as dead.

I move towards my sister, through the thick wall surrounding the window, until I'm directly in front of her. The whispers, like excited fireflies, illuminate her expressionless face, letting me see her scars, and her sunken cheeks. I just have to use one of them for Katniss to feel my presence. I reach out one hand carefully, seeing the ball of light move closer to my outstretched fingers, right in front of my sister's face. I retract my hand, fearing the warmth of the blue light and the irrevocability of the choice I am so close to making. Using one whisper now would mean having less to use when Katniss really needs my help, the time when I really want her to know I'm still here.

"_Katniss… I know you can live through this, I know you're strong, _" I say to her, on my knees, ghostly tears streaming down my cheeks. Clank, clank, the rocker stops. Did she hear me?

I watch as she stands up and walks down the hallway towards the living room. Following a few steps behind, I see her sifting through a box until she finds what she wants. My father's old hunting jacket. She puts it on and moves to the sofa, curling up and sobbing. I walk until I am a foot away from her, "_Sleep Katniss, I'll be right here._"

A few minutes pass. An hour. I stand unmoving inside my room in the dead people's mansion, looking down at my sister's sleeping form. I begin to suspect this is all an illusion, something that heaven makes up for souls to feel at ease about, while they're in this place between death and the true afterlife. It's morning in the world of the living when I see her stir, her face sweaty and her clenched hands shaking. She's having a nightmare, I realize, not knowing what to do. Suddenly, she jumps up, rushing out of the house to the garden. I run after her.

In the garden is Peeta Mellark, the boy who used to be smitten with her. Scratch that, I think, watching as his face lights up when he sees Katniss rushing out of the house. In his wheelbarrow are evening primroses, one of which is ready for sowing in the freshly dug dirt beneath the window sill. The way he shifts his weight suggests he wants to hold her, but holds back. He's still completely in love with my sister.

"You're back," Katniss says, standing awkwardly on the front steps. I move so I can see her face and watch Peeta's face as well. Being familiar with Katniss' facial expressions, I see her face register surprise and what looks like delight, before she puts on her mask of indifference again. Peeta is talking about just arriving in 12, therapy with Dr. Aurelius and planting primroses in our garden. Katniss says "I see," before quickly storming off and slamming the door behind her. Curious, I glance at Peeta, who gazes after her longingly before turning his attention back to the seedlings. He sits on his haunches and I do the same, watching his slightly smiling face.

"Welcome home, Peeta sweetheart, I missed you," he softly murmurs in a fake high-pitched voice, trying to mimic my sister's way of speaking. He closes his eyes for a second, lips puckering, as if about to kiss the unsuspecting primrose seedling in front of him. I giggle uncontrollably, my hands covering my mouth. Peeta clears his throat, glancing around as if afraid someone's watching. I lean in to listen more to his mumbling.

"I'm completely crazy now right, Prim?" he asks suddenly, looking straight at me. I jump to my feet in surprise. I almost suspect he can sense my presence, or he can see me, when he suddenly touches the leaves of the primrose seedling he's transplanting. Yes, I agree he must be going crazy if he has taken to calling plants by their first name. "Your sister's not that easy to love, but I do it anyway," he finishes, still talking to the primrose.

My heart is melting for Peeta at this moment, temporarily forgetting that he almost killed my sister with his bare hands in the past. I feel grateful, and more than a bit relieved that someone's finally here to care for Katniss in the way she needs to be cared for. All the others can do is feed her and force her to follow a routine, but Peeta can help nourish her heart back to life. He came back when he didn't have to. He came back even when his whole family's gone, to the same place where they're probably buried in ashes. He came back for her.

Sighing, I kneel beside Peeta again, my hands resting on my lap. "_Look, I'm sorry for not rooting for you in the past, because of – well, because I thought Gale would be better for Katniss,_" I tell him sincerely. He stands up, placing his tools in the wheelbarrow, preparing to leave. Following him across the lawn where he stands for a while, looking up at the window on the second floor, I say, "_But I think you're good for Katniss, too. So don't give up, ok?_"

I watch Peeta go back inside his own house before I go upstairs to check on Katniss. She's taking a shower. For the first time since I stepped into this black and white version of my hometown, I feel glad. If seeing Peeta could make Katniss want to look and smell presentable, maybe his feelings for her are not as one-sided as he thinks.


	3. Chapter 3 The Unlikely Son In Law

**Chapter 3. The Unlikely Son-in-Law**

That's how we pass the time in the Mansion. I haunt our house in the Victor's Village while Katniss is awake, follow Katniss to the woods as she hunts, and go to my father's room to check on my mother when Katniss sleeps. There are times when my father doesn't even notice I'm there, as he gazes at my mother with all the love he still feels for her. One time, I catch him singing. He never wavers in his affection for Mum, I think wistfully. If we weren't so poor in the past, they might have planned to have more kids, brothers and sisters for me and Katniss.

When I can, I go out to explore other common rooms in the mansion. There's a library full of books from the Dark Days. I notice fewer residents are present outside the rooms now. They may have passed on, or they may still be inside their rooms, choosing to stay in the black and white world they once lived in. During our rare tea time chats, father tells us stories of former residents, some of which he worked with in the mines. Apparently, he's the only one in his team to stay behind, while most of his friends passed on as soon as other district 12 people came to the mansion in droves during the war.

"So, Horace, you say you watched the Games. How did that work out?" Finnick asks as we're sipping our choice of afterlife beverages in the main sitting area where a few residents are also seated. Souls, I notice, gossip a lot, maybe a lot more than they did in life. It's not like we can do anything about what's happening in the world of the living anyway, and most of those we can gossip with wouldn't be able to repeat anything back to anyone still living. I glance curiously at father, noticing for the first time that he looks a lot younger than he did when he died.

Father takes a sip of his Earl Grey, a tea brand that used to exist in Panem centuries ago, before he replies. "I didn't go in the arena with Katniss, if that's what you're asking. I couldn't, since the arena is set in an alternate dimension, a virtual one. Instead, I tailed that good-for-nothing troublemaker, Abernathy, wherever he went in the Capitol," father leans on the table, then as if remembering something, he turns to me. "That reminds me, Prim. If you plan on seeing your mother on your own, you'd better tail her now, before she boards the shuttle to district 4. You can't go to places unfamiliar to you in life."

"I'm watching Katniss," I reply, swirling my iced honey drink around my glass. "She's not well enough to leave alone yet, even with Peeta there. You tail Mum, I stay with Katniss." It sounds reasonable to divide our haunting duties like this, and I have a feeling my father likes being able to follow mother around more than Katniss, now that the war's over and my sister is safely back in 12.

Father nods, "That Mellark boy looks responsible enough, takes after his father well. Met them here, but they didn't hang around long. If—" Father's face softens, tears welling in his eyes. "If Katniss decides to marry him, I have no objections." He says the last sentence gruffly.

I look at him for a while, pondering. "That's a surprise. I thought you always liked Gale, you being his father's friend and all." At this point, Finnick who has been idly playing with his glass of wine, leans closer, his eyes alight with curiosity. "Father, do you think Katniss would pick Peeta over Gale?" I ask.

Father smiles, a nostalgic look in his eyes, "Much as I like Gale, he doesn't seem to see her in the way the other boy does. Peeta Mellark has the makings of a patient and dignified man. Reminds me of myself when I fell in love with a girl way above me in status." He pauses. Then, without any warning, his eyebrows furrow and there's fury in his eyes. "Peeta or Gale, whoever Katniss chooses is fine by me. As long as it's not Abernathy."

Shocked, Finnick and I exchange a look that says what-the-heck-is-he-talking-about. He finds his voice first. "Excuse me, by Abernathy, do you mean Haymitch Abernathy?"

"Who else am I talking about, boy?" father blurts out loudly, startling a nearby resident. "That old lecher has been lusting after my girl since her first Games. Why do you think he's been drinking double time ever since he brought her home from the war? Probably from disgust at his dirty thoughts."

Father finishes his tea, stands up and leaves Finnick and I gaping at each other, unbelieving.

An old grandfather clock chimes from somewhere, and for a long time, no one speaks. Haymitch, who I thought acted very fatherly towards Katniss, is actually in love with her? Father can't be serious. A part of me is skeptical at my father's assessment of Katniss' relationship with Haymitch. Maybe old prejudices have clouded my father's judgment. After all, wasn't he the one that speculated with the other district 12 old timers about Haymitch's real agenda in the Games? There was a rumor about Haymitch Abernathy selling out his tributes during the Games and accepting dirty money from the Capitol's betting pool. Father was very vocal with his opinions, although he only shared them with my mother.

"What do you think of that, Finnick?" I ask, not knowing how to react. I think about Haymitch's overt concern for Katniss, how he helped her a lot during both Games and how he would always find time to check on her during our stay in 13. For a drunk, he seems to know his bearings well, especially when it comes to checking on Katniss' progress in the hospital, and pestering doctors about her psychological health. I know because I was always around the hospital when he came to speak with her attending physician. What my father said holds a grain of truth, but it's still shocking to think about the possibility.

Finnick shudders, blinking his eyes a few times before letting out a guffaw. "Jeez, little girl. I can't tell you about the images forming inside my mind right now. Haymitch and Katniss..." He stands up, laughing and shaking his head. "I need to see Annie before my imagination spews out more… impurities." And, he's gone.

I return to Victor's Village, still thinking about what my father said. It's dusk, but there's light in Peeta's house on the second floor, while our house is completely dark. I wonder if Katniss is spending the night in Peeta's room. As if to answer my question, I see Katniss open the second floor window. A moment later, Peeta leans out holding a quilted blanket and shakes it. They're preparing for bed. My face burns at the thought of seeing my sister and her boyfriend sleeping in bed, even if I know she did this often in the past when they went on tour. I never asked her about what she usually does with Peeta, and I doubt if she would have told me. My intention to check on Katniss gone, I visit Haymitch Abernathy instead.

The television is on when I come in, and Haymitch is seated right in front. My throat clenches with emotion when I see what he's watching. The 74th Hunger Games. The current scene shows Cato and Clove strategizing around the cornucopia, and Thresh making his way towards them, hidden in the trees. The screen flashes and Katniss' face comes up. She's sharpening the tips of her arrows on a rock inside the cave, preparing to join the feast. Peeta's sleeping form beside her stirs and she stops what she's doing to adjust the sleeping bag around him. I remember this part well, when Katniss almost gets her throat cut by the girl from district 2.

Haymitch is holding a bottle of whiskey, heavy-lidded eyes staring blankly at the screen, and it looks like he's about to pass out. I sit on a footstool beside his armchair and watch the scene unfold.

There's Katniss, running towards the center of the clearing. Mesmerized, I see Clove point one of her knives towards Katniss, preparing to throw. Claudius' booming voice narrates as the whole scene is set on slow motion, slowing to a stop as the commentator admires the perfect angle of the throw, predicts the trajectory of the knife as it leaves Clove's hand, and how the knife will undoubtedly hit the side of Katniss' head at this point blank range.

Knowing now what happens during these parts of the Games, they're probably waiting for bets to be placed before they unfreeze the scene. They play the scene slowly, freezing Clove's throw every few seconds, and speculating about Katniss' imminent death. Sick bastards.

Beside me, Haymitch lets out a strange sound, and I turn to look at him. He's doubled over, as if in pain, his knuckles white where they grip the bottle. He wheezes. I see his face briefly when he lifts the bottle to his lips. His eyes are closed and tears are streaming from them.

"Don't die on me, sweetheart… please… don't… die…" he sobs as he rolls to the floor, retching and shaking. After a few minutes, he lies still, finally passed out. Stunned, I take one last look at the television, then the drunk man on the floor, and run out the nearest wall.

Outside, I replay the scene inside my head. At first, the whole thing doesn't mean anything, but I remember my father's assessment of the old mentor's feelings for Katniss. Why would Haymitch want to watch the Games again if it brings him so much pain? Then I realize it.

The 74th Hunger Games is as much a story of Peeta's love for Katniss as it is a story of Haymitch's unrequited feelings for my sister.

His detailed guidance regarding strategy, something that he didn't do for Peeta. The arrival of expensive parachutes when Katniss needs them the most. If my father and the rest of District 12 were right about Haymitch's money-centered agenda as a corrupt, uncaring mentor in the previous Hunger Games, then his behavior during the 74th Hunger Games must be completely out of character. He's not helping her because she's a worthy tribute. He's helping her because he's developed personal reasons for wanting her to live.

I cover my mouth with both hands, stifling a shriek, which is silly since no one living will hear me anyway.

_Don't die on me, sweetheart…_

Haymitch Abernathy is in love with Katniss.


	4. Chapter 4 Adult Love

**Chapter 4. Adult Love**

I've been around the Mansion for a while now, although time doesn't really matter to the dead. Just when I think I've been haunting Katniss for a week, my father pops in and reminds me to join him and Finnick for our usual tea time. I make an effort to keep track of time according to the rules of the living. The only working clock around the Victor's Village is in Peeta's kitchen, but I don't have to go there to measure how much time elapsed. There are other ways to tell time, like the position of the sun in the sky when Katniss hunts, and the amount of stubble on Haymitch's face.

I spend an awful lot of my time hiding out in his pigsty of a place, a fact that makes my father frown. But there are times when watching Katniss struggle through her nightmares becomes so unbearable that I seek the predictable mess of empty bottles and rotting debris in Haymitch's basement to escape from the feeling of helplessness. Not being able to do anything to comfort her is torture. I also blame myself a lot for her depressive state, for dying too early and not being able to say goodbye. Peeta's basement is a no-no, because that's where he deals with the monster inside his head, the one that tells him he should tear Katniss apart as soon as possible.

I think about the awkward discussion with father and Finnick about love and sigh. Over a bowl of grapewine jelly, I described the scene with Haymitch and the television, and father only shook his head, a strange look of understanding on his face.

"Why doesn't he tell her about his feelings, and let her decide who she wants to be with?" I asked. My father sighed, reaching out to touch my hair like he used to do whenever he prepares to explain something he thinks I wouldn't understand. "Is he afraid of rejection? Is that why he doesn't show his affection for her the way Peeta does?"

"Prim, there's the shallow kind of love that makes you want to own a person and makes you jealous when she's with someone else. And there's the other, deeper kind that brings more pain than you can bear but you'd rather live with it than without it," he explains, looking across the table to Finnick for help. Finnick smiles in the usual way, but his eyes when he looks at me seem older and wiser, without their usual teasing glint.

"It's called adult love," Finnick says, "It matters more to you that she's living her life in contentment, and you feel lucky just to be around to see her do it. Even if you keep reminding yourself you're probably not the reason she's smiling," Finnick exchanges a glance with my father who nods in approval. I don't get it, but I accept their explanation as truth, having no personal experience in the romance department myself.

It must be around mid-summer now, judging from the amount of leaves on the street leading to the Victor's Village. I carefully avoid the growing number of rain puddles on the ground out of habit, wishing foolishly for an umbrella even though I know the rainwater won't touch me at all. I've gotten used to walking, or should I say floating an inch off the ground. I often hitch a ride on Thom's wagon when he goes to fetch Sae on some days or deliver supplies, but not all the time. Father tells me I don't have to bother moving around, that I can simply appear every time on Katniss' doorstep, but I persist.

Walking around the destroyed town helps me come to terms with my new life as a ghost. There's nothing attractive about district 12 now, and the amount of rubble around is enormous compared to the number of people present to clear it away. Every now and then, I see colored figures mingling with the colorless people around the square, and I realize I'm not the only ghost around. It will take a dozen years for the handful of people that came back to 12 to really make the town livable, although that may change with the new technology, and more people, coming in. For now, it's a ghost town, literally.

I've never been much of an eavesdropper in the past, but now I think it's a cool skill. The juiciest secret I stumbled on should be Haymitch's real feelings for my sister, but it's not. During the time I've been around his house, I discovered a few more of the old mentor's secrets that trumped that. While Katniss believes her old mentor is a derelict who cares more about his supply of whiskey than anything, the truth is… Haymitch Abernathy is mostly sober.

The usual cheap whiskey he keeps his pantry lined with doesn't get him drunk anymore, though he sips on it out of habit or real thirst. He keeps a bottle of the cheap stuff nearby more like a security blanket. He keeps the stronger stuff hidden away for when he really wants to get drunk. There's a pattern. He drinks for real when the screaming starts, either coming from Katniss' house or Peeta's. He moves to the kitchen because the sounds are less audible there, compared to when he's in his room upstairs. By the time Peeta or Katniss comes by to bring food, he has puked out most of the alcohol he consumed during the night and is sober again. What kind of life that must be, living with a perpetual hangover, on top of everything else he has to deal with.

In a small cabinet beside his messy desk, there's a machine that silently spits out memos and official-looking letters every few days. Haymitch would bolt the door, retreat to his room and be in a telephone conversation for several hours. He's still in the know when it comes to the development in other districts and the Capitol, something he keeps Peeta and Katniss in the dark about. Some of his phone conversations are with Dr. Aurelius, mostly about how Katniss and Peeta are recovering. In between the memos, he would lie on a pillow in front of the cabinet and read an old leather-bound book called The Art of War.

The Haymitch he keeps hidden away is a scary, cunning version of the drunk loser he lets people see. Now I understand why father has always regarded him with suspicion.

Katniss isn't home when I reach our house. With the thunder rolling overhead, I feel a bit worried that she may be caught in the storm if she's in the woods hunting. It's Katniss, I tell myself. She'll probably feel bummed out that her prey is less accessible in the rain, but she'll be safe under a rock or inside a warm tree trunk while the storm rages on. With nothing else to do, I make a game out of jumping on the wet garden soil near the primrose flowers, skipping on one foot when puddles start to form.

Just when I think nothing interesting will happen today, I see Peeta making his way to his mentor's place, an umbrella over his head. He's carrying a bag in his other hand, probably filled with pastries. I sprint towards Haymitch's front door, and watch as Peeta knocks politely before letting himself in. I follow behind closely, not feeling up to walking through walls today.

Peeta prepares lunch, moving deftly around the rubble on the kitchen floor. On the table, Haymitch stirs, slowly blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Bloodshot eyes squinting as he glances in Peeta's direction. He flops back to his sleeping position, head resting on one hand, his other hand reaching for his whiskey bottle unconsciously. Peeta smiles, in a knowing way.

"Disappointed? She's out hunting today. But she may be bringing you dinner later," Peeta teases lightly, stealing a glance at Haymitch while clearing the bottle of whiskey from the table.

What's this? I can feel my eyebrows shooting up on their own, as I think about what he just said. Could it be Peeta knows about Haymitch's feelings for Katniss? I guess I should be reeling in shock at this. But the real surprise is Peeta seems fine with the fact that the older man could likely be his main rival for Katniss' affections. I think about father's description of adult love, that it's not about being possessive or jealous. I scratch my chin, still not getting it. Shouldn't a boyfriend feel jealous about another man's affection for his girl? Adults, I decide, are too complicated to understand.

Peeta serves the bread on a plate and spreads a dollop of butter on the steaming buns before placing the plate in front of Haymitch.

"Stop treating me like a lovesick idiot nursing a pre-pubescent crush," Haymitch snaps groggily, but there's no bite in his tone. He takes one look at the glistening bread in front of him and shuts his eyes with a groan, rubbing one hand on his temple."What was all that yelling about this time?" he asks wearily. Peeta takes a seat across Haymitch and I join them, curious.

"She lost it when she realized I didn't use protection for… you know," he says, face darkening with embarrassment. I can feel my face burning as well when I realize what he's referring to. "She said hell would freeze over first before she sleeps with me again."

"Did you do it on purpose?" Haymitch asks as he regards Peeta with probing eyes.

"What? – No, I – " Peeta stammers. "I don't know."

His eyes are very bright now and he avoids Haymitch's steady gaze. "She made it clear to me that she has no intention of bearing a child, and I'm treating her like a fool for pulling a stunt like that." Peeta looks down, clenching and unclenching his hands. "I love her so much, and I want to understand her, but I couldn't resist."

"I'll make a call to the Capitol, have someone send over contraception options she can use herself," Haymitch puts up a hand when Peeta starts to react, "No one else will know about it. It looks like you'll have to let go of your fatherhood ambitions for now. She's not ready, you're not ready. Not when you're still tearing your hair out in that basement of yours every other day."

Peeta lifts his head slowly, a stunned look on his face. He clearly has no idea that Haymitch is up and about during the day, sober enough to hear his mad ramblings inside his musty cellar. The last time he was down there, he tore at his collar, his hijacked mind trying to convince him that Katniss tries to feed him poison using her lips. He howled "not real" over and over, until he's gasping for air. I can tell he's thinking about his last episode now. I fidget in my seat. No one speaks while Peeta prepares to leave and Haymitch eats the bread.

On his way out, Peeta stops, not turning around when he says, ""What if I never recovered from my burns? What if I died? If I didn't come back here, would you have taken her in?"

"I'd have taken her to Gale," Haymitch answers, also not looking at Peeta. "Or forced him to come back here."

"Why?" Peeta asks.

"Because she deserves a clean slate," Haymitch says, his tone strangely gentle. "I can't give her that."

In the silence that follows Peeta's departure, Haymitch moves to the couch to catch up on his sleep. I stare out the window over the sink for a while, pondering this thing called adult love. I think I'm beginning to understand what it's all about.


End file.
